THE NIGHTSTAND SECRET

I stared at the black ink on the thick legal paper. Thomas Vance.

“Tom, did you know about this?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

My brother looked as if he’d been struck by a fire engine. He grabbed the papers from my hand, his eyes scanning the legal jargon. “No. No, Nora, I swear to you. I’ve never seen this before in my life. I don’t own a house in Cape May.”

He flipped to the last page, where the signatures were notarized.

“That’s my signature,” Tom said, tracing the ink with a calloused finger. “But I didn’t sign this. Someone forged it.”

I looked at the notary stamp next to the signature. The name printed beneath the seal made my stomach drop into a bottomless pit.

Elise Montgomery.

Answer one: Elise didn’t just get a summer house out of Mark. She used her license as a notary to forge my brother’s name on the deed. Open two: Why Tom? Why frame a firefighter with a spotless record for a multi-million-dollar property? And how did Mark get Tom’s signature to copy?

“He used your old tax returns,” I realized, the pieces snapping into place with sickening clarity. “When you got divorced three years ago, you asked Mark to help you organize your finances. You gave him boxes of your personal documents.”

Tom’s jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth would shatter. “That son of a bitch.”

Emma was watching us, her eyes wide with terror. The rehearsal dinner, which was supposed to be a night of laughter and toasts, had turned into a crime scene.

“Mom, what does this mean?” she asked.

“It means your father committed identity theft,” I said. “And Elise helped him.”

I grabbed my purse and stuffed the silver key, the blue ribbon, and the manila envelope inside. I wasn’t a frightened sixteen-year-old girl sitting in a police precinct anymore. I was a fifty-five-year-old mother who had just had her life ripped apart, and I was going to protect my daughter.

“Sarah,” I said, turning to Luke’s mother. “Can you take Emma and Luke back to the hotel? Keep them away from Elise. Do not let Mark anywhere near them.”

Sarah nodded fiercely, slipping her arm through Emma’s. “You have my word, Nora. We are family now. We protect each other.”

“Where are you going?” Emma asked, clinging to Luke’s hand.

“Tom and I have a phone call to make,” I lied.

I didn’t want to call the police. Not yet. If the police arrested Mark tonight, the wedding would be a media circus tomorrow. Emma deserved one beautiful day before her family’s name was dragged through the mud.

Tom and I walked out to his truck. The October air was biting, but I didn’t feel the cold. I felt a burning heat spreading through my chest.

“We’re not going to the police, are we?” Tom asked as he started the engine. He knew me too well.

“Not yet. We need to know exactly how deep this goes before we blow it all up.” I pulled the silver key from my purse. “Do you know where Elise lives?”

Tom put the truck in gear. “Yeah. I did an inspection on her subdivision a few months ago.”

We drove in silence, the streetlights flickering across the dashboard. When we pulled up to Elise’s sprawling, gated property, the house was completely dark. No lights in the windows, no cars in the driveway.

“She’s not here,” Tom said, putting the truck in park.

“Good.”

I stepped out of the truck, clutching the silver key.

“Nora, what are you doing? We can’t break in,” Tom warned, following me up the stone walkway.

“I’m not breaking in,” I said, sliding the heavy silver key into the front door lock. “My husband bought this house with my money. I’m just letting myself in.”

The lock clicked. The door swung open, revealing a cavernous foyer that smelled of expensive perfume and deceit.

I turned on the flashlight on my phone. The house was immaculately clean, almost sterile. We moved through the living room, past a massive grand piano, and into the study.

“Look for anything with Mark’s name on it,” I told Tom.

I opened the desk drawers. Empty. I checked the filing cabinet. Locked.

Then my flashlight caught a glimmer of gold on the mantelpiece.

I walked over. Sitting between two expensive crystal vases was a heavy, gold pocket watch.

I recognized it immediately. It was the watch my father had pawned when I was twelve to buy liquor. I had spent five years tracking it down, saving every penny from my grocery store job, and finally bought it back when I was twenty-one. I had given it to Mark on our wedding day.

I picked it up. The metal was heavy in my palm. I pressed the small button on the side, and the lid popped open.

Inside, the inscription I had engraved—For Mark, My Safe Harbor—had been brutally scratched out.